Starlight
by Apalapucian
Summary: Right now you're a mass of giggles and tangled limbs and flailing fabrics on starkissed grass. He doesn't get up at once, the prat. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, kisses you on the lips once, twice, forever. JPLE one-shot.


**A/N**: Hi guys, I'm particularly fond of this one, which rarely happens, so that's something. It's short, and based on Taylor Swift's song of the same name. Someone on Tumblr asked me if my 'life goal' was to make a fic out of all of her songs, and hey, who knows? Rofl. So far I've made three, I think. As always, enjoy, come drop by my blog to send in prompts and hello's and whatnot if you so wish (because you all have been very kind to me on here waah), and maybe take some time to review if you can!:-)

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He's just got that look, y'know, when he's grinning from ear to ear and his eyes crinkle beneath his glasses, when he's got the promise of the time of your life in his outstretched hands—_the time of your life, Evans! The flipping time of your life!_—his carefree laugh cascading through the night like there's no war going on, like you're just kids breaking rules and running wild and falling hopelessly in love… he's just got that look, the one you can't resist, and you find yourself saying yes every time.

And you will tell Sirius and the boys later that it was all only because it was the most tedious Ministry mixer thrown in the history of ever, but you _know_ that it could have been the most terrible, most boring opera in the world, and you still wouldn't have jumped out of that window to get away—Merlin, no way—if not for a bespectacled boy of seventeen who appeared out of nowhere and announced that he has a "better plan". He always, _always_ has a better plan, see.

And Sirius will laugh, Remus will smile knowingly as he hands you a cup of coffee, and Peter will seek James with raised eyebrows and a huff, because they know, too. Of course they do.

But right now you're a mass of giggles and tangled limbs and flailing fabrics on starkissed grass. He doesn't get up at once, the prat. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, kisses you on the lips once, twice, forever. You straighten his glasses and laugh with him and say, "You promised I wouldn't fall!"

"I _didn't_ let you fall," he answers. He smirks, draws you closer to labor the point of his pathetic excuse for a catch.

Except he did, you think. And you've fallen. Oh, how hard have you fallen, Lily Evans, how hard are you still falling, a million times in the million little leaps of faith you've made with and for this boy, long before your feet touched the ground.

His "better plan" makes a princess out of you. A ruler of some made-up kingdom, dancing with your prince in the land of the forgotten. Turns out he's gotten you his heart and an ocean and hilariously crappy dance moves. Oblivious crowd and shooting stars. He's taking you away, he's taking both of you away to this temporary crease of normalcy in a world slowly crumpling, to this small corner he has diligently searched for. You're just some other name pencilled in on a list of royal titles tonight. No Lily, no James—_no worries for now,_ he tells you, _don't you worry tonight, yeah?_—and it's strange to realize that you haven't felt like yourself in a while more than you do now.

He takes your hand and runs, and you wish you could shoot through the shores for as long as the horizon goes. But you both tumble down, a heap of feverish kisses and wandering hands, the water lapping in and out of your touching toes, everything crashing.

It's going to end soon. The sun creeps up on the other side of your hiding place, and the sea looks majestic but your heart aches a little. You lean against him—dizzy and exhausted but happier than you've been in a very long time—and he drapes an arm around you.

"We should get a house by the sea," you say.

You don't see it, but it makes him smile. "Yeah?"

You rest your head on his shoulder, and his own thuds on yours a heartbeat later.

"And crash more parties."

He nods, chuckling. "You got it."

"We should have more of these," you continue. "Dancing all night. Sneaking in places. Counting stars."

"Shagging in beaches?"

You laugh. He kisses the top of your head. And then it hits you, suddenly it's all that makes sense in the world.

"We should get married."

He turns to you at once, and there's that second of surprise, but it takes no more than that for his trademark grin to make an appearance.

He leans in, shakes his head disbelievingly with a huffing chuckle, and crushes his lips against yours—

Because you just have this look, he thinks, when you're smiling like that, when your eyes glisten in shockingly bright contrast against your scarlet fringe, that warmth of home and the feel of countless days coming in the spaces between your fingers—_forever, James,_ you told him earlier, didn't you? _Forever and ever, don't you worry_—your tinkling laugh cutting through the sunrise like you've got all the time in the world, like you're just two kids breaking rules and running wild and falling desperately in love… you just have that look, Evans, the one he can't resist, and he just—

"Yes. Yeah, we should."


End file.
